“At your peril, sir!” said Lady Hunter. “This young lady, is a ward of chancery, and not of age!” “I am of age--of age last month,” cried the bride. “Not till next year.” “Of age last month. I have the parish register,” said Captain Lightbody. “Go on, sir, if you please.” “Good Heavens! Miss Hunter, can you bear,” said Lady Hunter, “to be the object of this indecent altercation? Retire with me, and only let me speak to you, I conjure you!” No--the young lady stood her ground, resolute to be a bride. “If there is any lawful impediment, your ladyship will please to make it at the proper response,” said the chaplain. “I am under a necessity of proceeding.” The ceremony went on. Lady Hunter, in high indignation, retired immediately to the vestry-room with her bridegroom. “At least,” cried she, throwing herself upon a seat, “it shall never be said that I countenanced, by my presence, such a scandalous marriage! Oh! Sir John Hunter, why did you not interfere to save your own sister?” “Save her! Egad, she did not choose to be saved. Who can save a woman that does not choose it? What could I do? Is not she your ladyship’s pupil?--he! he! he! But I’ll fight the rascal directly, if that will give you any satisfaction.” “And he shall have a lawsuit too for her fortune!” said Lady Hunter; “for she is not of age. I have a memorandum in an old pocket book. Oh! who would have thought such a girl could have duped me so!” Lady Hunter’s exclamations were interrupted by the entrance of her son and daughter, who came to offer what consolation they could. The brilliant congregation poured in a few minutes afterwards, with their mingled congratulations and condolence, eager, above all things, to satisfy their curiosity. Captain Lightbody, with invincible assurance, came up just as Lady Hunter was getting into her carriage, and besought permission to present his bride to her. But Lady Hunter, turning her back upon him without reply, said to her son, “If Captain Lightbody is going to Beaumont Park, I am not going there.” Mrs. Lightbody, who was now emancipated from all control, and from all sense of propriety, called out from her _own_ carriage, in which she was seated, “That, thank Heaven! she had a house of her own to go to, and that nothing was farther from her thoughts than to interrupt the festivities of Lady Hunter’s more mature nuptials.” Delighted with having made this tart answer, Mrs. Lightbody ordered her husband to order her coachman to drive off as fast as possible. The captain, by her particular desire, had taken a house for her at Brighton, the gayest place she could think of. We leave this amiable bride rejoicing in the glory of having duped a lady of Mrs. Beaumont’s penetration; and her bridegroom rejoicing still more in the parish register, by the help of which he hoped to obtain full enjoyment of what he knew to be his bride’s most valuable possession--her portion, and to defy Lady Hunter’s threatened lawsuit.